The Death of James Potter
by Dr. Sheep
Summary: Into the domestic bliss of Godric's Hollow bursts James Potter's worst fear. A short One-shot detailing his final encounter with the grim spectre of Lord Voldemort and death.


"You ready Harry?" he asked and his son giggled his anticipatory assent. "Wooooooo!"

Harry Potter burst out into full, belly laughter as he floated slowly up towards the ceiling, guided by his grinning father's wand. He chuckled delightedly as James pushed him up and down and, even Lily, who had tried to adopt a stern countenance, found herself joining in the laughter, though James could still sense her worry.

They were sat together in their cosy living room, Lily curled up against him on their old, overstuffed sofa. Gentle music played in the background, whistling out from their wizarding wireless as they wiled away another comfy evening playing with their young son. It was the simplest but the greatest of joys for James and the sheer love of it seemed to swell his chest to twice its usual size.

"See Lils?" James said to his wife as he lowered Harry back to his lap. "Our son is a natural flyer. You're going to be a chaser for England one day, aren't you Harry?"

Harry giggled and nodded his uncomprehending agreement and Lily rolled her eyes at James' hopeful joy.

"Harry, Harry!" Harry himself said, reaching for his father's wand.

His meaning was quite clear; he wanted a turn of his own.

"Are you going to float me up now, Harry?" James asked as he handed over his wand. "I'm warning you, I'm pretty heavy."

"James…" Lily said in protest.

"What's he going to do Lily, curse me? I think I can take him," James reassured her.

Harry, meanwhile, was looking at the wand with utter infant concentration. He pulled his hand back and tried to flick his wrist as he had seen his parents do a thousand times before. Instead, the wand went flying from his grasp, to Harry's astonishment, and landed on the other side of the room. James and Lily both broke out into riotous laughter at the expression on their son's face, and Harry looked quite offended. His lip trembled and James recognised the warning signs before he was able to stifle his son's upset with a hug.

"Don't worry mate," he said. "You'll get it soon enough."

_**BOOM**__!_

An explosion tore through the air outside, bursting in on their domestic bliss like a savage beast. The house itself shook and James felt the blast as a lead weight in his heart. _No, Please no._ His eyes went to Lily's and he saw his fear reflected back at him in the beautiful green eyes of his wife. They sat stock still, scarcely daring to breathe, as if to do so would be to tempt fate and invite death into their home. But death needed no invitation. James felt it in his bones, he knew what this meant and the realisation brought a cold, panicked sweat to his brow and an overwhelming terror and sadness in his gut. _Peter, what have you done?_

_**BOOM!**_

The wards were falling.

The next instant, he was on his feet, shoving Harry into Lily's arms as she rose to meet him.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

A tortured look passed over his wife's face and he knew she didn't want to leave him. For the briefest moment, he thought she wouldn't, but then, pale and frightened, she nodded and took off at speed, sprinting upstairs with Harry clasped protectively in her arms. James was left alone in his living room, listening to the sound of his own thumping heart as it raced in demonstration against the mortal dread of its master. A second, that was what he allowed himself before he too took off at a run, out the living room door and into the hall, waiting for his destiny to arrive.

How long it seemed, that moment he stood, staring at the inside of his door. The irresistible magic rumbled and reverberated against their failing wards and every pulse of power echoed within him as a shock of fear, of raw existential terror. He was breathing hard now, hard and ragged, straining to stop the tears pooling in his eyes from falling. It wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't fair. His family, so young and beautiful, gifting to him a purpose before unknown, now crouching in fear for their lives.

He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. In fact, his whole body was quaking in protest as every inch and corner of his primal mind screamed at him to run, to survive. But he knew he could not. Though the fear consumed him, though it threatened to overwhelm him, there yet remained a greater power, and their faces flashed in his mind just then. Lily and Harry. He couldn't allow them to die, not if there was the slightest chance he could save them. And though it was ridiculous, that he might best Lord Voldemort standing in his pyjamas with neither wand nor weapon, at least he was a barrier. Even if the half-second it took Riddle to step over his corpse was all he could give them, then he would take it and grasp it with both hands. Their lives were infinitely precious and every second was worth more to him than he could ever hope to express.

But he knew it wasn't enough. Fifteen months, that was all Harry had been given and James wanted to shout and rage at the world that wouldn't give him a lifetime. His son, his pride and joy; how much he deserved and how little his father could give him. He wanted to weep and was unable to prevent a lonely tear tracing its way down his cheek. And his thoughts turned to Lily; twenty one years old, no age to die. Gorgeous, clever, amazing Lily; if he had had a hundred years with her, it wouldn't have been enough and the short, sweet breath their love had been allowed seemed a cruel trick of the gods. He cursed himself then. He cursed himself for so many things; for trusting that rat Wormtail, for not warding the house himself, for leaving his wand, but most of all, he cursed himself that he hadn't spent every moment of his life in love with Lily Evans. Six years he had known her before they had gotten together, six long and wasted years that he had spent not being with her, not soaking in every perfect moment that could have been spent in her presence.

Such thoughts led him to the others and his heart gave a painful jolt when they turned to Sirius. His friend would be blamed for this; they had all suspected him, even James himself for a time, and this would seem to confirm their fears. What hells would his best friend be put through for this, because of James' own foolishness? But then, this was Sirius, would he even want to live when all he lived for was gone? He adored Harry, loved him like his own son and James and Lily were like brother and sister to him. Only Remus would remain and the werewolf would no doubt lay the blame at Padfoot's door; it was the only logical conclusion. And Remus, where would he go? What would he do? Would he survive alone, without his friends, his family, to support him?

_**BOOM!**_

He started in shock. That was the last of them, the last of the wards. How long had he been stood there, wallowing in grief and self-pity? An hour? Seconds? It must have been the latter, though it seemed so much longer. There was a pause as the magical battering down of his wards came to an end and silence reigned. A brief peace, the eye of the storm. It was a blessing as James took it to steel himself. He thought not of death in that moment, but of life, not of grief but of love. He wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened his shoulders, forced his trembling nerves to still. A pool of determination spread within his chest. He would not allow this; his family would not perish, not if he could prevent it. And then it hit him.

The front door to Potter's Hollow exploded into the hall and James was knocked back and to the ground by a shockwave of magical power. His head thudded painfully against the bottom step of the stairs and he groaned as he tried to blink away the fog and keep his grip on reality. The pounding continued and he reached back to feel blood in his hair, but with a great effort of will, he pushed away the darkness clouding his eyes and then forced himself back, unsteadily, to his feet. He wouldn't die on the ground, he would die like a man; upright and proud.

It was at that moment that a figure stepped forward, through the mist of dust and debris and over the wrecked entrance to his family home. Lord Voldemort. The creature's face swam slowly into view through the dust and the pain and their eyes locked. James took in his enemy's hideous visage with a bubbling revulsion and fear in his gut. His eyes were bloodshot and red, narrowed in disdainful inspection as the passed over the scene before him. His head was bald as an egg and his skin was chalky and pale, stretched tightly over his skull as if his skeleton was trying to burst free. His thin, serpentine lips pulled into a languid smile as he looked over James and not a hint of wariness or fear showed in his expression.

For a long moment, they looked at each other, as if trying to work one another out, but then the dark lord's hand started to move. James heart beat wildly, his ragged breathing returned. He didn't want to die, he wanted to live. He wanted it with every aching sinew in his body. _Please God_, he thought, _not now, not like this. Not when I have so much left undone, so much left to give them._ Voldemort levelled his wand at him and smiled deeply, a cruel and evil smile. James' arms hung uselessly by his sides and he knew he looked upon his death. He begged himself to stop shaking, but he couldn't. He wanted it all, every moment he could grasp with Harry and Lily. He wanted to grow old with his love, to see Harry grow up, go to Hogwarts, love and live a life of his own. It seemed too much that that should be taken from him and he felt hollow to consider it. He felt another tear fall and in his mind's eye they flashed before him. Sirius, Remus, Alice, Frank, even Dumbledore and the order, and then the final two. The two who meant so much more to him than his own life, who had leant meaning to his existence, whom he loved beyond anything and everything, his thoughts turned to Harry and Lily. They had placed their lives with him and he had failed them but he willed it, he willed it like he could save them, if only he tried hard enough _I will go happily into death if only they live. Let them live._

That was his last thought as the dark lord's wand lit with a harsh, violent green and the light washed over him, stealing his soul and plunging him into eternal darkness as his body fell limp to the floor.

**A/N: Hey guys. I've been away from the scene for a long time now and, though this doesn't quite herald my glorious return, I decided to give this a go for a bit of a writing exercise. This was pretty much what I had planned for towards the end of **_**Fifteen Months**_** (see my Author's page if you don't know what I'm talking about) but I never got that far.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and please do leave a review to let me know what you think. If you want to read more of my writing, have a look at my Author's page for two full, complete novels, another One-Shot and an incomplete short story. I wrote them a few years ago now but I like to think they're still worth reading.**


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